this morning with his eyes still closed and his mind clouded by a terrible nightmare, started the change. Change for all those reasons that I had already explained in previous post. We say that the last poem I published scared me a bit. That evening, alone at home, I decided to write a nice post on the habits of the Milanese. Listening to "The Foule " Edith Piaff I was thinking about how to start .. all of a sudden my hands start to write the first word, then another, then another, and within two minutes I found myself to read a poem sad and pathetic (and I mean pathetic full of pathos), which at that time could not be written by me. And it could be because first of all it was not in the programs and then because this time the love is really the last thing that takes me ... I needed something stronger after this surprise. And so I started to mess with something symbolic: a wall of the house. I looked at the white wall since I moved into the new house. She stared at me smugly, so anonymous. And then a few days ago I, my face and my idiot roommate Ale Castorama we went to search for a new color. And to the question of the order from the tail up, "Red, orange, green, blue ... what color do you prefer?" without delay a moment "Miss .. please give me the dark colors."
And while the clerk handed me the champion with shades of dark gray I smiled. And the more I smiled as she looked at me like a psychopath. "Miss we have decided this." The color was very dark, very beautiful. After returning home, armed with roller I painted, with a bit of sadism not deny it, the unbearable white wall.
My "ciel dans une chambre" I can finally see it every day.
will not be blue like normal but it is dark.
's black because the blue will not feel totally mine.
' s black because the black encloses all colors ....
I like to look at it and imagine it as the backdrop of a theater ....
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